


Evaluating the Worth of Honesty

by newsoftheworld



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, But aren't we all, Cheating, F/M, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Near Death Experiences, a re-write of a piece i did last year, although i've included as many facts/plots points that are rooted in facts, because apparently that's all i know how to write anymore, brian grapples with near-death, brian's in the hospital with hepatitis, chrissie is faithful as ever, collection of blurbs set in the summer of 1974, he's a mess, i did my research, love u bri, obviously most of this is just my imagination, peaches (mentioned), queen is in the middle of recording sheer heart attack, the boys try to help cheer him up, this is from brian's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsoftheworld/pseuds/newsoftheworld
Summary: Consciousness is a blurred spectrum, and Brian May finds himself navigating its extremes in a most circuitous fashion.
Relationships: Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Brian May/Original Character(s), Brian May/Original Female Character(s), Brian May/Peaches
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Evaluating the Worth of Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> hi again! you may recognize some of this from a piece i've uploaded to this site before––essentially, i took "in the year of '74" and reworked it into a more coherent and plot-driven story. i hope you all enjoy it: please let me know what you think by dropping a comment! hope you're all staying safe out there. <3

Consciousness is a blurred spectrum, and Brian finds himself navigating its extremes in a most circuitous fashion. Deep, dark patches of the unknown paint his mind: he’s swirling around, a mere speck in the whirlpool of dreams. It weighs heavy on his chest, engulfing him with its persuasion until the air is squeezed from his lungs.

_ I don’t want to die. _

A kaleidoscope of colors and faces roll past him––dull colors of the city, bright lights of the stage reflecting on his guitar, jarring flashes of red, then black. The faces of loved ones, new and old, of friends, of strangers, of  _ her _ and her strawberry blonde hair, all smile at him as they move past. Wishing he could reach out and touch her but paralyzed by sleepiness, he can only watch as the vibrant images fade from his vision.

Heartbeat faint in his chest, Brian tries to open his eyes. He can see the sunlight through his eyelids, but his facial muscles don’t seem to want to contract. With effort, he raises his hand to his face.  _ Ow! _ Groaning at the jolt of pain that shoots through his abdomen, he sucks in a breath.

Prying an eyelid open with his fingers, his retina is assaulted by the harsh afternoon light streaming through the bedside window. “Shit.” His voice sounds foreign, hollow with fragility. Wincing, he focuses on his surroundings.  _ White walls, white sheets, white gown. _ He frowns.  _ Where…? _

A searing flash of memory strikes, bowling him over with its intensity.

_ New York City.  _

_ Uris Theatre. _

_ Collapse. _

_ Sirens.  _

_ Airport.  _

_ Darkness. _

Feeling is seeping back into his body, the flood of aches and pains filling him with an agony so deep he feels he might faint. Floundering for the energy to cry out, Brian opens his mouth––but only a shallow breath escapes, taunting him with its calmness. Everything feels futile.

Fear claws at his throat and he wants to scream. Was she real? Did it all  _ really  _ happen––was his infidelity real? Or did he simply imagine it all; an elaborate concoction of his overactive mind? The possibilities torment him to no end.

_ Maybe this is a sign from the cosmos. _ The thought creeps up on him before he can stop it, and it fills him with an icy dread.  _ What was I thinking?? It was all too much, all too fast… I lost myself in her. This is my punishment. _

A dull throb of pain thumps in his arm.

_ I’m going to die. _ An odd sense of resignation settles over him, encouraging the bud of guilt to blossom in the back of his mind. His bottom lip trembles, index finger twitching against his chest.  _ I’m going to die a disappointment––to my parents, my band, Chrissie… _

Memories of Chrissie, his girlfriend, play before his eyes, the moving images crackling like old film. Her smile, her laugh… She reaches out to grab his hand, to pull him closer. But the projection before him sputters and fades, the softness of her voice ringing in his ear.

_ “Brian.” _

His eyes are useless, zooming in and out of reality. The whitewash walls of the hospital room morph into a familiar open space––the New York stage.

_ “Jesus Christ, do you see him? He’s yellow as a daffodil!” _

_ “I know! Fuck, fuck, fuck–” _

_ “Cab’s ready outside, we’ve got to get him down.” _

_ “Someone help me get this bleedin’ bastard to his feet.” _

Strong hands, cheap leather seats, airport security. Every sound, every sight, every sensation is woven together in a collage of nightmares. Desperate to return to his hospital bed, Brian closes his eyes and sinks deeper into the mattress. 

_ “D’you think he’ll be alright?” _

The elusive thread of consciousness unravels.

Darkness.

***

Breathing is difficult. Never before in Brian’s life did he need to focus  _ this much _ effort on the process. It hurts, too.

“Well, laddie, you’re lucky to have made it through that flight in one piece.” Chuckling dryly, the doctor––Doctor Graham, his name tag reads––looms over Brian’s cot. His largeness blocks the window, much to Brian’s chagrin. “I won’t mince my words: that was a rather foolish thing to do, especially in your condition. You’d have been just as safe in the care of an American doctor, you know.”

The last thing Brian wants is to hear some old man chastise him. “Just wanted to be home in England is all,” he replies through gritted teeth. 

Patting the guardrail, Dr. Graham chortles. “Well. As far as hepatitis cases go, yours is quite severe. I’m astounded you didn’t collapse sooner than you did: the tests suggest the infection began earlier this year, likely from a tainted vaccination needle.” Giving Brian a side-eye, he adds, “You’re going to need plenty of rest before you’ll be up and running again. The rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle is a dangerous one, I’d be  _ very _ careful going forward if I were you.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” A stab of pain cuts through Brian’s stomach and he gasps, choking on his breath.

“Ah, you’re due for a refill.” Through bleary vision, Brian watches Dr. Graham unhook the empty bag from his bedside IV machine. “I’ll page the nurse, it’ll only be a moment.”

Relinquishing his hold on consciousness, Brian admits that his assignment to such an infuriating doctor is definitely what he deserves.

***

This silence is familiar. Brian doesn’t need to open his eyes to know Chrissie’s there. He can’t recall whether they’d spoken since his sudden return home, since his sudden hospitalization…  _ she must be worrying herself sick. _ A tiny part of him is grateful for his wretched state: a perfectly valid excuse to feign sleep.

Equal parts of comfortableness and uncomfortableness fill the room. Eyes still closed, Brian imagines her in that red-flowered sundress, the one he makes certain to express his appreciation for whenever she wears it. This image alone gives him the courage needed to enter the waking world, which he does: right before being attacked by his own chest. Coughs are squeezed from his throat, his diaphragm pushing weakly at his battered lungs.

“Is it your stomach again? Do you need me to fetch the doctor?”

Blinking, Brian carefully turns his head. His skin crawls with guilt as he recognizes Chrissie’s worried gaze. “No, it’s alright. Just tired is all.” More coughing. Her tiny hand on his does little to ameliorate the situation, but he derives some sense of comfort from the gesture.

Stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, Chrissie sweeps her long auburn hair behind her shoulder. “I can keep talking, if you’d like. Fill you in on Tom’s latest dating mishaps.” Pausing to giggle, she continues in a softer voice. “Or I can just sit with you awhile, until you fall asleep again. If you think that’ll help.”

Nodding weakly, Brian offers a smile. “Just having you near me is all the comfort I need. I appreciate it, Chris, I really do.”

Leaning over the metal bar of his cot, Chrissie places a kiss on his forehead. “Isn’t that my job? To care for you?” Her smile would make him squirm if it didn’t hurt so much to move. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, and I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” Squeezing his hand in reassurance, she relaxes into the rigid hospital chair. “I know that mind of yours is always moving a mile a minute, Bri, but try to slow it a bit, yeah?”

Orange shadows of the evening sun filter through the window, encircling Chrissie’s head in a golden glow. Her expression is hesitant, worry etched into the lines on her forehead.

Brian nods. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They sit quietly for a while: only the sound of their breathing interrupts the monotonous silence of the quarantined room. 

Mellowed by the painkillers but mind still buzzing, Brian closes his eyes. The image of his surroundings sears itself onto his retina: the “get well soon” cards, flowers, and stuffed penguins littering the small table in the corner of the room––from the fans, he presumed––the stack of books piled next to his bed, the IV machine, and Chrissie.  _ She deserves to know. Doesn’t she? _ Wincing at the pain lancing through his abdomen, Brian finds himself evaluating the worth of honesty.

Before he can think too hard, he catches a glimpse of something red––deep crimson effusing from the corners of his thoughts. The haunting notes of a piano trickle into his ear, and suddenly he’s thrown back, into the city and into the bar that keeps his heart under lock and key. 

_ “So you’re a guitarist, huh.” _

Beautiful music and enchanting lights surround him. The room melts into focus, but the bar is empty––he’s alone, sitting at the same table as he had weeks before.

_ “I suppose you can buy me a drink.” _

Her voice is in his ear. He longs to see her hazel eyes, to smell the lavender on her skin… to feel her dainty hands on his chest as she dances to the music. The sway of her hips is mesmerizing, and he’s certain it’s something he could watch for days.

_ “Ah, so you’re one of  _ those  _ poets.” _

A sad smile rises to Brian’s lips. Fragments of the hushed secrets they shared hover around him, taunting him with their vividness.

_ “Awfully bold for a man I’ve only just met.” _ Her laughter twinkles in the shadows.  _ “I like you.” _

Brian holds onto the feeling for dear life, certain that something of this magnitude can never be found again.  _ Surely the world has room for only one such beauty. _

Hopelessly ensnared, he feels himself begin to fall through the floor and into the depths of the memory. Reaching out to grasp at the tendrils as they fly by, his heart sinks to his stomach as his fingers pass right through––like smoke. Wisps of faintly-colored orangeness caress his cheeks, fluffing his hair as they make their departure.

Emptiness gnaws at his stomach in the darkness. His heart aches to be near to her: he’d do anything, anything at all, to return to that moment and live in it forever.

_ Time and space be damned. _

The implications, quite frankly, are terrifying. It’s a vicious cycle: once he falls, he falls  _ hard _ . He thought Chrissie would be the last, until  _ she _ came and obliterated that notion. This one, though––this one he’s certain can never be equalled.

Brian’s thoughts swim precariously as sleep looms before him. Reluctantly, he surrenders his hold on her and instead returns to the image of Chrissie, sitting dutifully beside him. Effortlessly domestic, comfortingly familiar. Warmth blooms in his chest, and deep down he admits practicality will be the winner in the end.  _ Right? _

***

“It feels as though we’ve been in the studio every goddamn day. We haven’t, have we?”

“I fell asleep in the lobby one night––Jo was worried sick when I didn’t come home, poor thing.”

Brian’s eyes dart from friend to friend, desperate to keep up with their chatter. On the road, he’d gotten used to living with them every day––sharing meals, hotel rooms, dressing rooms––but now his bandmates are back in the recording studio to work on their next album. Try as he might, Brian can’t quell the feeling that he’s being left behind.

“John’s got this excited little number, a right shot of adrenaline it is.” Fred, theatrical lead singer that he is, claps his hands together. “He’s got the perfect guitar track in mind, too––all ready for you to rip through once you’re outta here.”

John, their bassist, is nowhere to be seen. “He’s out with Veronica, looking at some furniture for their new flat.” Dragging his fingers through his white-blonde hair, Roger, the drummer, taps his foot incessantly on the floor. “It’s quite a nice place, actually: you should stop by once you’re out. Say, when do y’think that’ll be?”

“The doctor thinks I need a week’s more rest.” Brian’s mouth feels like sandpaper: the words scrape across his tongue awkwardly.

Scoffing, Fred frowns and hovers over Brian’s cot. “A week! I s’pose you look rather tuckered out, but I can’t imagine this borish room is doing you any good.”

Brian can feel Fred’s dark eyes scrutinizing him. He can’t imagine that he looks good enough to  _ walk _ on his own, let alone check out of the hospital’s care. “The sunlight helps.” He nods toward the window. “And Chrissie’s been smuggling me some of her cooking.”

“Ahh, you’re lucky to have ‘er.” Roger winks. “She was worried sick about you, when we first arrived. I had to help calm her down.” The impish grin on his friend’s face does little to set Brian at ease.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Brian glares at Roger. “You didn’t tell her, did you? God, if I find out that you’ve––”

“Don’t worry, dear.” Fred rests a hand on Brian’s shoulder. The weight is comforting. “Roger’s stupid, but not  _ that _ stupid. Your little secret’s safe with us.” Fred’s lips curl into a smile.

Everything about this is making Brian nauseous. Swallowing, he takes a deep breath. “I haven’t figured out what to do about it, yet.” His eyes are starting to burn from all the blinking.

“What is there to do? You can’t tell her.” Roger and Fred exchange looks above Brian. Shrugging, Roger tugs on the too-short sleeves of his embroidered waistcoat. “Look, it’s a bit horrid, but that’s just the way things have to be. You’ve been together so long, there’s no use risking that now for some American girl you met for a couple days.”

Tilting his head, Fred’s long black fringe slides across his cheekbones. “Look, Brian. If you really feel that you need to tell Chrissie, if it’s really eating you up the way it seems to be…” His voice is quiet.

An expectant silence fills the room, Fred’s words looming in front of Brian and filling him with dread. Roger, uncharacteristically quiet, shifts from foot to foot, the crunch of his starched denim jeans distracting Brian from his thoughts. Pity is the last thing Brian wants, and so he decides to break the silence. “You’re right. It’s probably best not to tell her. Like you said, it was just a one-off thing, anyway… It won’t happen again. I’ve already started to forget about her.” The quiver in his tone doesn’t even convince himself of his sincerity, but Brian manages a grin regardless. 

“Right.” Fred’s voice is cool and he avoids making eye contact with Brian, instead choosing to turn and look out the window. He crosses his arms over his chest, the shadows on his jaw dancing as the muscles flex. 

“We miss you in the studio, Bri.” Roger moves to the end of the bed, giving Brian’s ankle a squeeze through the scratchy hospital blanket. “Just rest up, yeah? We need you and your perfectionist brain to record some smashing solos for the tracks we’ve come up with. There’s only so much we can do without you!” He chuckles brightly and it makes Brian smile.

“I’m doing my best. I miss working with you, too.” Brian focuses on swallowing the lump that’s forming in his esophagus.

Fred joins Roger and stands at Brian’s feet, his sharp features softened by the half-smile on his lips. “I think we’ll let you sleep, now––we’ve bothered you long enough.” 

“Tell John ‘hi’ for me! He must enjoy getting to lay down bass tracks without me there to nitpick everything he does.” Brian laughs wryly: Fred raises an eyebrow and Roger chortles. “I’ll be out before you know it.”

“See that you are.” Giving him one last encouraging smile, the two men leave Brian to his room full of thoughts.

***

Today, Chrissie smells like lilacs. It’s an intoxicatingly sweet smell that grips Brian’s heart with a strength he can scarcely control. She’s sitting next to him, a sight that he’s become accustomed to in recent weeks. Her auburn hair is braided back, the braid cascading down her chest and revealing the smattering of freckles on her forehead that only make an appearance when the sun is out. Her cheeks are rosy and her mouth is moving: she’s saying something, but Brian is too enthralled with her presence to register her words.

“You look beautiful.” Brian’s interjection promptly shuts Chrissie’s mouth, painting her face in a deep red.

“Thank you.” Her brown eyes look to the ground, giggles rippling down her neck. “You’re too sweet.”

Reaching for her hand, Brian sits up straighter on his cot. “I mean it, Chris. You’re absolutely glowing!” The adoration in her gaze as she looks up at him is intoxicating. He feels good, the warmth of happiness sunning his skin for the first time in weeks.

“It’s just the suntan, I’ve been spending lots of time outdoors recently.” Her voice is meek but the gigantic smile on her face satisfies Brian. “But enough about me. You said you needed to speak with me about something: what is it? It sounded important.”

“Oh.” The smile frozen on his face, Brian’s soaring mood falters. Fred’s advice echoes in his ears, beckoning the guilt he’d worked so hard to bury.  _ I can’t. She can’t know.  _ “I… just wanted to talk about arrangements for when I’m discharged.” Looking away, Brian takes a deep breath and attempts to quell the clash of emotions waging war on his mind. “I’ve been thinking: what’s the point of living separately anymore? We’ve been together so long, it seems only natural to–”

“You know how my parents are, Brian.” Laughing, Chrissie squeezes his hand. “They’d never allow it, not unless we’re married.”

“Why don’t we get married, then?” Brian speaks before he can think. The shock at his own words is mirrored on his girlfriend’s face: the whites of her eyes practically bulge out of their sockets.

Neither of them speak for several moments. “Do you really mean that?” Chrissie’s voice is barely a whisper.

This time, Brian mulls over his thoughts before speaking. “Yes. I do mean it.”

“Oh, Brian!” Leaping from her seat, Chrissie threads her fingers through his dark curls and pulls his head to rest on her chest. Brian can feel her stomach quaking and he returns the embrace, wrapping the arm closest to her around her waist. He closes his eyes and smiles into her dress as she sniffles quietly above him.  _ This is what I want. This is who I want. _

Happiness.

Pulling away, Brian looks up at Chrissie. The dimples on her cheeks are stained with tears, but the expression in her eyes is familiar. For a split second, Brian sees hazel eyes looking back at him, and the scent of lavender fills his nostrils. 

Brian’s heart skips several beats.

But just as quickly as it appears, Chrissie’s auburn hair and lilac smell returns, banishing the phantom from the room. It does little, however, to ease Brian’s elevated heart rate. 


End file.
